Cut In
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: Episode tag for Supernatural: Season 8 première. Grey's Anatomy set in season 3. When Dean escapes Purgatory he meets a helping citizen.


**a/n: Episode tag for Supernatural: Season 8 ****première****. Grey's ****Anatomy**** set in season 3.**

_When Dean escapes Purgatory he meets a helping citizen_

**Cut In**

There was a bright flash of swirling, watery light and Dean Winchester was thrown clear. Though he was coming fast, he tried to change his descent in mid-air, and failed predictably. He grunted in pain as his shoulder connected with a tall, dark shadow in his path and he dropped to the ground. Pain shot through his shoulder and into his neck, and as he rolled onto his back, he knew that he'd dislocated it. He become familiar with the radiating pain of a dislocated shoulder since he was fifteen, and now that he no longer had Sam to help him fix it in Purgatory, he learned to do it by himself.

He'd get to that in a moment.

He allowed himself to focus on one deep breath of fresh air—fresh _Earth_ air—because that was where he was now. It tasted different, smelled different than Purgatory air. It was cleaner, more pretty than the stale, beastly based air in Purgatory—here, it smelt like flowers and rainbows, there in smelt like decay and monochrome.

He kind of missed it.

He sighed as he looked up at the sky through the darkness (it was never dark there, and it was never light either, it was just faded), the sky was blocked out by fluffy canopy, but there were gapes, where the twinkling dots shone through (there was never that there either, stars in the sky, the moon or the sun).

Yeah, he was back on earth again.

He grasped the tree that he'd crashed into and struggled to pull himself upright one-handed. He twisted around until he was leaning back against the rough bark, shifting, muscled tensing as he readied to pop his shoulder back into place. He narrowed his gaze and stared through the dark...

_Whump!_

He grunted through pursed lips and clenched jaw as he clutched his throbbing shoulder, forced back shockingly into its socket. You would think that having done this at least a hundred times now in his life, he would be familiar with this pain and it would have grown dull, but it was still as sharp as the first time (when a vamp dislocated it and his dad forced it back in place, shoving a sock in his mouth to muffle his scream) it happened. The pain was the same here as it was in a different dimension, or where the hell ever Purgatory really was. He didn't know. Was Hell in a different dimension, was Heaven? Stupid questions that he'd never get a proper answer to, so why bother?

He didn't move for a while longer, though every nerve in his body told him to. He couldn't stay still, it was too dangerous. Constant movement was his ally, stillness his enemy, concealment was a play date that never lasted long. And he was out in the open right now, and stationary—a very shit combination. And He couldn't take it any longer, staying in one place, he needed to move and he needed to move _now_!

He quickly climbed to his feet, his hand gripping his injured shoulder as he moved, already he'd shoved the throbbing pain to the back of his brain and focused on moving. He had no idea where he was, or where he was heading, all he knew was that he was moving, and that relaxed him considerably, which was an inch, but that was enough for him. He couldn't afford to be relaxed, he was hunted twenty-four-seven, not that he was aware when the days turned to nights, whether days, weeks, months or years had past—there was no telling in Purgatory. If he stayed still, he was dead. And what was after Purgatory? There was only ever Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, and Earth. So, when you died on Earth and were a bad person, you when to Hell; when you died on Earth and were a first-rate person, you went to Heaven; when you were a monster on Earth and died, you went to Purgatory. But what if you died in those three places, what came next?

Dean knew that you could die in Heaven, though he thought you weren't supposed to; (He knew you could because of the things that Castiel had told him). Dean knew that from experience that you couldn't die in Hell. And Dean wasn't going to take the chance of finding out what happened if you Died in Purgatory. Because he knew—_knew_ that there was nothing afterwards. _Nothing_. And if Dean knew anything about himself, it would be that he couldn't do _nothing_—he couldn't handle that. Maybe people thought that would make him weak, but he knew that it made him stronger—_It made him unable to stop... ever._

He was incapable of stopping,

Stopping would mean death in Purgatory,

Stopping would mean _nothing_ in Purgatory.

He came to a running stop as the realization that he wasn't on Purgatory hit him a second time with a deeper impact. His breath moved harshly in and out of his lungs in quick succession as he caught his breath, the throbbing in his shoulder took up rhythm with his pounding heart. He wasn't in Purgatory anymore, he wasn't being hunted anymore.

He was free?

A shiver travel through him at the prospect, at the thought of it. Could it really be true, could he stand still longer than two-minutes just to catch his breath? He did a complete 360-spin, taking in his current surrounding—or at least what he could see through the dark gloom, with silver spots from the moon that shone through the gapes in the trees brush. Yes, these were woods, but not Purgatory woods.

He took a breath, forcing his feet to stay on the spot as he counted down the seconds. When he hit the two-minute mark, a pack of vampires didn't bore down on him, he was so shocked he could do nothing else but stand there. And now, if a pack of vamps did jump down from the trees, his shock overpowered him to much for him to react fast enough. So it was a good thing that didn't happen, he guessed.

The thing that did bring him from his shock—was not vamps—but a sharp pain in his gut. Had he gotten stabbed just before he made it to the portal and not noticed 'til now? He lifted up his tattered and dirty tee and patted his stomach in confusion. He felt newer battle scars, but nothing gaping and fresh. So what was this? He felt an urge, but for what? He let his shirt drop back down and started to walk again, no running this time, as he tried to think what this must mean. The more time he spent thinking on it, the pain grew more, until he felt like he was going to burst. And that was when it hit him—he had to take a piss!

He wandered over to a suitable tree, stood with his feet a part, unzipped his jeans, and positioned himself. And with a little effort, he realized and released, listening in wonder as the hot stream spattered against the tree roots in the darkness, and the sharp pain faded. When he was finished, he tucked himself back in and zipped up his pants and started to walk again.

He couldn't believe that he forgotten what it was to pee. It was just that it had been so long since he did anything like that. It Purgatory there was no sleeping, eating, pissing or shitting, no coughing or burping or sneezing or farting—there was only the hunt; being the hunter or the hunted. Some days, Dean hadn't been sure which one he was. He must've been there a freaky long time if he'd forgotten about pissin' and shittin'. And it wasn't long before his stomach felt hunger as well.

First in was gurgling, then grumbling, then he felt nauseas after a while. What was he supposed to eat? It was dark, he had no idea where the hell he was going, so how was he supposed to find something to eat? In Purgatory there'd been trees, vines and shrubs; there was no fruit growing in the trees, or berries in any bushes—hell there hadn't even been any animals or insects—AND WAS THAT WHAT ALL THIS NOISE WAS?! It was so loud, and obnoxious! All this chirping and shit was going to drive him nuts sooner than later.

"_**SHUT THE HELL UP**_!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying on.

He was almost startled by the sudden quiet abruptness. He stilled, and listened. All he could hear was his breathing and his hungry stomach. It was relaxing, but then it started to become unnerving. He wished that they'd start up again. And as if hearing his silent plea, the chirping began. After a few second though, it became annoying again. He tried to ignore it as he continued moving. He needed to get out of the trees and find some friggin' food, before all the effort he put into getting out of Purgatory was wasted on him starving to death soon after.

He stumbled into a small clearing and with a clear

_bonk!_

_thud!_

he ended up with a sore nose and on his back.

What the hell?

Dean climbed back onto his feet, and carefully he inched forward with his good arm outstretch, palm out. He stopped when his hand thumped against something hard, cold, and metallic. He ran his hand along the smooth surface, wondering what the hell he walked into (literally). He took a few steps back and narrowed his eyes, trying to slice through the gloom; it took his eyes a minute but finally they adjusted and he could see the ghostly pale outline of the object through the faint moonlight. He stepped to it again, his hand on the surface, he walked it perimeter. This thing was pretty big. He was rounding the other side when his boot caught on something, and tripped, nearly doing a face plant—not on grass—but wood. A deck? His shoulder protested as he pushed himself back up, but he ignored it. If this was a deck, then this literal tin can must be someone's trailer. It was obvious that no one was home since lights didn't come on and a guy wasn't coming after him with a bat. This was good, because if this was a trailer, then there'd be food inside there—food that he badly needed. With careful stepping and arm waving, he found the steps up to the deck, and carefully climbed the tree planks. He traces his hands along the trailers shell; metal, metal, window, metal, _door!_

Dean stopped and felt for the door knob, he hoped that it wasn't locked; he didn't want to kick the door in and have a guy come home from fishing or something to a broken door. That was needless sucker-y; coming home to foodless fridge and missing wardrobe would be enough. But it wasn't, and he was glad. He stepped inside and felt for the light switch and blinked in the sudden brightness.

Whoa! His eyes finally focused and he looked around. He wasn't used to such bright colours. The curtains were green, the dinning table seat cushions were red, the walls were beige, the counter tops were a swirls of more greens, the big bed at the back had a blanket that was deep blue.

Dean closed the door behind him and the first thing he did was go to the fridge. He opened the door and only goggled at all the food stashed inside for a second before he started grabbing things. A pack of hotdogs, the cheese, bread, a container of something, a few beers from the fridge door. He didn't care, as long as he could ear it, it didn't matter if they went together or not. He opened the hotdogs and almost ate a couple whole. He was still chewing as he opened the container, he didn't know what the hell it was, but it smelt good so he ate that too, accompanied by some slices of bread, before he cracked open the brewski and glugged it down, gasping for breath when he finally took it from his lips. He at some cheese before he finally set the food aside, his stomach no longer hollow. He cracked open another beer as he finally looked around the place.

The first thing his that gaze landed on was the colander on the wall.

_November 12th, 2013._

Dean stared at it shocked. He'd been in Purgatory for little more than a year. It'd felt like more than a year, it was more like a life-time. He'd been reborn there. He shook his head, what did it matter, really? There was nothing he could do to change it. He turned from the calendar and started a thorough search of the place; he didn't want to be here too long, he was to exhausted to fend off the owner if he came back and he was still here. He found a hiking bag and the closet. They looked like the same size as his own stuff so he shoved a couple shirts and pants into bag. He found a first aid kit in the closet and took that too. Food and water went in next. And the jackpot wasn't the shotgun he found (though of course that was a bonus because he was weapon less), but it was the map that he found. Seattle?! How the hell he end up here? He just shook his head and stuffed it into his pocket. He was tempted to use the shower, because god knew he smelled like a Wendi go's sweaty ass, but he couldn't stay here longer than he had to. That didn't stop him from using the can though, and 'cause the small space, he had no choice but to look in the mirror that hung on the back of the door. He looked worst that when he came back from Hell. He quickly avoided his own gaze in the mirror. He sat on the edge of the bed, swearing it was the most comfortable thing he'd ever felt as he went through all that was in the bag before he left as tiredness hit him like a wave.

—_cut in_—

Derek Sheppard pulled into his 'drive way' and cut the engine, leaning back in his seat with an explosive sigh as he stared out his windshield. He was exhausted. It wasn't because he was a world renowned neurosurgeon. It was because of women—and one man. He came to Seattle to start fresh and he met Meredith and he was happy, but then his Addison came wanting to start over, and dragged Mark along with her (the cause of his problems from the start). juggling the three of them gave him the worst headache, sometimes he dreamed that it would be better if a brain tumour was the cause of it all instead of the three of them (because at least that would be a more easy fix).

But he had his trusty trailer that helped him get away from it all, and it was the perfect balm for a headache (the one caused by his wife, mistress, and ex-best friend, not the tumour one, _he_ was the solution to that). His trusty trailer, the one that had the lights on. His trusty trailer that had the lights on without him being home inside—the lights that were on before he even got home.

He slide from his jeep and this time his sigh was incredulous; he come home from a long day at the hospital to something like this before. Addison must've gotten it into her head again that she could just walk into his trailer and call it home again. He approached his porch with dragging steps, trying to decide before it was too late if he could just turn around and drive away, when he noticed that fact that he couldn't see her car anywhere. That gave him pause and he stopped at the steps. If Addison wasn't here, and he could see no other cars around, that left one conclusion.

There was a god damn intruder in his house!

Derek narrowed his gaze as he bent and reached under the step, retrieving the baseball bat he'd hidden under there. If this guy was still in there, he had guts, and the doctor hoped the guy didn't find his hunting rifle under the bed. As he carefully climbed the steps, he thought about better hiding places for the weapon.

He curtains were open and he peeked through into his trailer. He saw no one and nothing at first glance looked out of place (not that he had much of anything in there but the essentials). So either the guy was no longer there, or he was in the bedroom (the window for that was at the end of the trailer. He tip-toed to the door and opened it without a squeak (now he knew why he oiled the hinges last weekend). Next time he left, he was gonna lock the door. He thought he'd be safe with leaving it unlocked out here in the middle of nowhere, but he'd just been proven wrong—there were robbers even in the woods! He guided it shut quietly.

His eyes darted around the small space of his kitchen area, noting the empty food wrappers, and beer bottles left on the counter. It looked like half his fridge had been eaten, and now the guy was in his bed? This Goldilocks mother—!

Derek froze at the foot of the bed and looked down at the man laying there asleep. This guy looked like he was put through the ringer a hundred times! His clothes were rags on his body; all exposed flesh was cover in scabbed lacerations, bruises, dirt and blood; his face was covered in thick stubble, his short blond hair was darkened with grime; his eyes delved in shadows, his cheek bones were pronounced in his cheeks. If it weren't for all that, the fact that he hadn't eaten in a while, and smelled like he hadn't showered for a year, he would have been a walking supermodel.

He lowered the raised bat and looked around his room. His closet had been shucked through, and it looked like that was what his beg was full of that and food. He noticed his rifle laying next to the slumbering man, and quietly edged closer to the bed. Holding his breath, he snatched the rifle and scrambled back, but man only shift in his sleep. Derek looked at him again. Maybe this guy wasn't a robber, maybe he was a lost hiker or something. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt bad about wanting to hit this guy over the head with his bat.

He wondered what he should do as he hid the rifle in a new hiding spot for the moment (the shower), and turned back to the stranger. He put the bat down and slowly reached towards the guy (he looked like he needed a couple months of sleep, and Derek probably would have let him have it if this situation wasn't so bizarre.

"He—" That was as far as Derek made it.

Dean snapped awake, twenty-two years of hunting and a year in Purgatory, made him like a ninja. Before he was even fully awake, his arm shout out and grabbed Derek's, unbalancing him and jerking him onto the bed, as he rolled on top of the man and pinned him.

Derek was in shock, he hadn't seen this coming when maybe he should have. He hadn't expected to be grabbed, so he had no other choice than the be pulled down, and now the weight of the man on his chest kept him there. He looked up into the man's face, and saw that his emerald green eyes were unfocused, as he raised his fist, ready to struck Derek down. Did this guy even know where he was?

"Wait!" Derek shouted, trying to drag this guy back to reality. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he promised. It was true, if anyone was gonna get hurt, it was himself. This man was strong, and seemed to have some sort of military training. "Please!" Derek tried to buck under him.

Dean's fist stopped its descent and his shook his head roughly, blinking his eyes. When they focused, he saw that he had a guy pinned under him. Thick curly black hair; saxe blue eyes; five o'clock shadow; he was clean, not frothing at the mouth, or needle point teeth. His eyes shot around the room and he remembered that he wasn't in Purgatory any more, but instead back on Earth were he broke into a trailer. He must've fallen asleep, such a rookie move! He looked back down at the guy underneath him, this must be the guy's trailer, and Dean almost clobbered the man.

Dean winced and carefully removed himself off the guy. "Sorry," he scratched the back of his head as he started to back away; he needed to get out of here, and fast, food notwithstanding, before the guy decided to get pay back and call the cops.

Derek sat up and rubbed his chest where Dean'd pinned him; no way was he making a sudden movements again, this guy was dangerous, he didn't think he could take the guy in a fight normally if it came to that, but the guy looked exhausted. And if he tried anything, he wasn't going to hold back.

Derek watched him warily as he was subtly backing away, making for the exit.

"You're a lost hiker, right?"

Dean stopped and looked at the guy; was that what he thought? He supposed it was technically true, and unable to think of anything better than breaking and entering (but he more entered than anything else), he grasped onto the idea. "Yeah," he agreed.

"Okay," Derek nodded slowly. "Do you need to call somebody?"

Dean shook his head. "Naw, it's just me." He glanced around awkwardly. "Sorry about..." he waved his hand around generally.

Derek grimaced. "That's okay, it looks like you could use some food and some sleep... a shower maybe."

Dean winced. "Yeah, I've kinda been lost for a while. Wondered off the trail and all that,"

Derek nodded as he stood. "I'm Derek"—he held out his hand to Dean.

"Dean," Dean shook his hand.

"You still hungry? I've got lots of food," said Derek. "Or I could give you a ride into town; maybe the hospital or police station, or your house?"

"If you just point me in the right direction, I can get there on my own." Dean told him; and that was true enough, he didn't want to spend more time with this guy than he had to.

"You can't be serious!" Derek protested, "It's almost midnight and you must be exhausted, you can stay here for the night, have a shower, eat, and I'll drive you into town in the morning."

Dean looked at him. Who the hell was this guy? No way would Dean be this nice if some guy broke into his place. He was backed into a corner, if he ran now, he might as well be back were he started, 'cause there'd be no way he'd find any place in the condition he was in and how dark it was out. "I don't want to cause you any more trouble," he said, unable to let go even though he had no other choice.

"You're not." Derek told him. "It's not a problem, Dean." There was no way that he'd be able to ever forgive himself if he let this guy leave now, and die somewhere lost in the dark and woods, and knew the guy was folding.

Crap, the guy used his name! There was no turning back now. "Alright," he nodded. This was the first guy that he meant on his first night back, as things went, this was probably going to be Dean's only lucky strike during his time back. He was just gonna have to take 'em where he could get 'em.

_f_

y


End file.
